Living and Fighting
by EternalEccentric
Summary: Basically a dictionary project but don't let that turn you away. Stories will span from Wee!chester to now, and will mostly be Angsty and Tragedy : Heres to hoping you can enjoy !
1. Chapter 1

** AN: **Damn, two stories that need to be updated at once. Different ideas though and I swear Brothers To The End isn't going to suffer because of this one, which is actually pretty simple compared to the first one. The basic idea is to open a dictionary and pick a word, no changing the word once its picked, and write a drabble or mini-fic to go with it.

Inspired partly by **necro omen13**'s **26 Words**, though I'm trying my damnest not to steal any of her ideas.

Anyways, heres to hoping you enjoy,  
Jess :)

( _Reviews are what feed Insane, Batshit and Crazy, and their all kinda starving right now :..( PLEASE HELP FEED INSANE, BATSHIT, AND CRAZY !)_

**Agonize: **_**to suffer or to cause suffering**_

Sam sighed, or tried to at least, you know considering the blade that was currently jammed into one of his lungs. God-damn it fucking _hurt_, simple hunt his ass. A bizarre urge to laugh sneaks up on him but a distant part of his mind reminds Sam that laughing is pretty much impossible at this point so he settles for dragging another painful breath in and continuing to blink at the stars.

By the time Dean learns that Sam tried to go on a hunt by himself Sam's in critical condition at Stanford's Medical Center

By the time John learns that Sam tried to hunt by himself Sam's already dead and Dean's being quick to follow.

**Blade: **_**the cutting part of an instrument or tool.**_

It's amazing how easily Dean's words cut into him.

"_If I didn't know you I would want to hunt you."_

Sam can't really think of a reply to that, he's left staring dumbly at Dean as his mind scrambles to find a meaning to the words. He may be fluent in a good few languages but damn this isn't making any sense.

" _I would want to hunt you."_

They don't talk for a while after that. Dean's off somewhere probably planning with his new angel buddies. A bitter laugh rips itself out of Sam's chest as he falls back onto the bed. Whoa, the rooms spinning a little, maybe it's the alcohol, hell maybe it's the shock of being told by Dean that he's basically no better than the things they hunt. The laugh morphs quickly into slow quiet tears as Sam stares at the ceiling, feeling more than a little lost.

_--------_

Dean gets back to the motel some four hours later and sighs when he sees Sam curled on his side on top of the motels rough sheets. All thoughts of leaving vanish as he notices the bottles lined up neatly beside the bed. He swipes the fullest one before plopping himself on the opposite bed and flicking on the TV.

"I'm sorry Sammy."

**Cackle: **_**to laugh or chatter noisily **_

Simple. Dean was _really _starting to hate that word. A quick glance to the right ensures that Sam is still beside him, if pulling a little ahead, before turning his gaze back forward. Sprinting through the forest probably isn't the best time to observe the scenery. He ducks sharply as a branch whips suddenly out in front of him. He hears a sharp cry as Sam trips beside him, catching his foot on an unseen root. Dirt fills Sam's mouth as he falls, choking off the stream of curses that were prepared to fall from his lips.

Dean's there in a flash pulling Sam roughly back to his feet, wincing sympathetically as Sam hisses sharply upon putting weight back on his ankle.

" Go on Dean," he gasps sharply, falling back onto the forest floor and staring up at Dean, whose glaring down, a "Hell no!" ready on his lips before Sam cuts him off

" Get your ass moving Dean, they'll have a harder time catching you without me slowing you down. I will not be the reason for you dying."

Dean hesitates for a moment longer, knowing by the determination shining in Sam's eyes that he's not going anywhere. His eyes scan Sam's face quickly, memorizing his baby brothers features before he give a sharp nod, turning and running again, hating himself every moment for leaving Sam behind.

Echoing behind him is the harsh cackle of the harpies, intermingling with Sam's screams.

**Dark: **_**being without light or without much light.**_

Dean knew it was fucking bad when he woke up in a dark room, being chained to the ceiling must of just been bonus. Harsh breathing to his side just makes things worse in a way, because it means Sam didn't get away. It means Sam's tied up here to and if these are the same demons Dean remembers thinks are only going to get worse for the both of them.

--------

It's hard to tell what time it is anymore, hell he can't even remember what day their on. He's taken to counting the drops of water to pass have some sort of semblance of control.

Three hundred and forty-nine drops ago they came in and took Sam.

Two hundred and sixteen drops ago Sam started screaming.

Seventeen drops he stopped, and it's the silence that scares Dean more than anything else because now he has no way of telling what the Hell their doing to Sam.

--------

They let him off the chains almost seven days ago, even being so kind as to leave a torch on the wall along with Dean's watch.

Five hours ago they returned Sam, whose just kinda staring at the far wall, rocking slightly as tears stream silently down his face. Dean watches Sam from across the room, knowing that something inside Sam's broken, and there no way to fix it.

They were wrong when they assumed that it was only Sam with something dark inside him. The moment they come for Dean they learn their mistake is exactly what's gonna kill them.

**Elite: **_**a superior group, a choice part .**_

It's amazing really, watching the Winchester brothers working as a team. Dean and Sam, only twenty-one and seventeen respectively, yet their better hunters than most twice their age, John included.

Dean's got the street smarts and hustling skills with just enough recklessness and charm to back it up. Six feet tall, with sparkling green eyes and a smile that could lure in even the most strict of woman.

Sam's his back up. Knows more about the occult and monsters than anybody on Earth his age should but his smile is rival only to Dean's in strength. If anyone where to meet him casually in on the streets they'd never guess that he could summon a demon with five verses of Latin and easily dispatch it with another six. His anxious, eager-to-please, blue-green eyes only lent credibility to his innocent appearance.

Tales about the spread far and wide among the hunter community, amusing ones like how Dean had mistaken a small mischievous cat for a poltergeist haunting or how Sam had managed to get himself trapped in a elevator with some poor pregnant woman, playing reluctant doctor when her water inevitably broke. Darker stories came with the good though, how Dean's recklessness once got him trapped in a cave with a werewolf or how Sam tended to get a bit reckless himself when Dean was in danger, giving birth to the term " hell hath no fury like a Winchester pissed"

Taking good with the bad though, there is no denying, the Winchester brothers are among the worlds unknown elite.

**Fire**_**: destructive burning of something**_

Deans no big fan of fire. It took his mom's life, at least part of his dad's sanity, Sam's innocence, and even Sam's girlfriend. It's no real surprise really to him that they'll all go out in a giant fiery battle.

Sam's fighting next to him, blood flashing in the crazy flickering light of looming flames as it runs down his face and arms. Dean flinches as something sinks into his arm, forcing him to spin around to shake loose the claw the demon sunk into his hand. Whoever thought demons were humanoid in shape was fucking _wrong_. Claws, fangs, boils, hell some of them didn't even have skin, twisted into nearly unrecognizable shapes.

Castiels there in the next instant, cutting the demon aside and giving Dean a stern glare and shake of his head. Dean interprets the unspoken " get your damn head in the game" clearly and give him a stiff nod in return. He hears Sam shout his name a few moments later and glances back up to see Sam pointing wildly towards a man standing in the center of the battle, surrounded by a fucking huge ring of fire, while struggling to fight away the ring of demons that are jabbing wildly at his body.

Dean fights his way through the knot, enjoying a brief moment of rest as he checks Sam for any overly-life-threatening injuries. Sam shakes him off and they stare at each other, sharing the same thought before plunging back into the fray.

" We've got work to do."

**Grief: **_**intense sorrow , great sadness, especially as a result of a close ones death **_

Dean thought Sam could cope better without him, how fucked up was that logic? Though in all fairness Dean had no way of knowing that every second Sam was away at college he was wondering how Dean was doing, if he was okay, sleeping well, eating well, hell even alive anymore. Sam certainly never told him that.

Still though, how could Dean really have expected Sam to hold it together and better than he did after Dad traded his soul for him? Dean was pissed for months after that but Sam can't be pissed because Dean turned around and did the Exact. Same. Thing?

--------

Sam sits at the end of Dean's newly filled grave and rocks slowly back and forth, reverting unconsciously to the same stance he took at ten years old when John and Dean were gone for the night and he'd sit anxiously by the phone waiting for them to call, to know they were okay. He hears the dying fall grass crunch as someone comes up behind him and he reaches up absently to wipe away the few traitorous tears that managed to escape as he dug and filled the grave. A rough, caring hand comes on his shoulder and he knows without looking up that Bobby's managed to find him.

" You ready to go yet kid?" he hears the older man ask quietly. He shakes his head mutely, a small sigh lifting his shoulders as the rocking slows. Bobby mimics the sigh behind him and pats Sam arm gently before returning to his truck.

Sam doesn't move until he hears the truck start with a faint grumble and pull away and when he does move its to fall backwards, staring blankly at the stars. Without really meaning to he starts to sing, track after track from Dean's never-ending mullet rock collection, lyrics falling quietly from his lips and drifting among the trees that surround Dean's grave before floating to the stars.


	2. Chapter 2

**Humble: **_**Not proud, haughty, or pretentious**  
_

Dean's known a lot of people in his life and their definitions tend to differ depending on age and, well, species.

To many teachers throughout the good all U.S. of A, he the troublemaker that sat at the back of the class, never paying full attention, though if they gave him half a chance the results were amazing.

To bullies he was the one that appeared at the end of the ally, bearing down like fucking Armageddon if they so much as looked at his brother wrong.

To woman he's the one night stand they'll never forget. The man at the end of the bar that just seemed to reel them in with his dangerous grace.

To many a drunk pool player he's the man that swiftly and cunningly emptied their pockets , usually before they had the time to yell " Cheat !"

To his brother though Dean is the most gracious, caring (though he hides it well), sarcastic, humble person in the entire world and that never gonna change.

_**I will have it's own chapter. I've got something for it but it kinda reads as a separate story than all the others, and it's a little to long to fit here. Have no fear though I, you have not been forsaken !!!**_

**Journal: **_**A brief account of the daily happenings or events  
**_

Most people put normal things in their journals. You know the stuff: dates, crushes, people they hate, dreams, wishes. Can't be that way for the Winchesters though. Theirs are filled with monsters, exorcisms, and, in Dean's case at least, the best way to kill a fucking Kelpie. (long, _long_ story there) Actually Sam's is probably the most normal, though his dreams usually tend to be people that are about to die that they have to go save nowadays.

Anyways, It's a nifty little collection now. John's, Dean's, and Sam's journals (maybe with a bit of editing on the latter's part) neatly packaged and shipped to one Special Agent Victor Hendrickson of the FBI.

Taped to the outside is a note that reads simply,

_" Here's the proof. Maybe you'll stop chasing the good guys now dumbass. Enjoy asshole, Dean and Sam Winchester."_

**Legion: **_**Many, numerous, an army ranging from 3,000 to 6,000 soldiers  
**_

They said Hell's army was big, but holy shit that just doesn't cover it.

Dean's sitting in front of their sides, main headquarters (aka: the largest tent they could find) one foot tapping restlessly as he watches Hell's forces gather some fifteen miles away. He's reminded suddenly of the old documentaries Sam used to like, how they talked about how preparation for the wars back than usually lasted longer than the wars themselves.

Thinking of Sam, Dean knows that if he turns he'll probably see Sam still pacing a hole in the ground, eyes closed, muttering under his breath. Whether it's the proximity to so many Angels or the sheer power the Demons are excluding Sam's shut himself off. Stuck circling the confines of the incredibly elaborate Devils Trap Ramiel constructed around him.

Dean's mood drifts even lower as he thinks about Sam. The poor kids been through Hell (ohh the irony) since Lucifer took topside. Visions kicking back in with the lovely little addition of some great telekinesis. Back with those came the searing headaches that laid him up for hours, even days once though Dean rather not remember that particular incident. All of this coupled to make the angels even more wary of Sam, as they were convinced the pain would cause him to consent to being Lucifer's host, but he'd worked his ass off proving himself to them, and eventually they had accepted so now he was essentially Dean's bodyguard there to keep Dean safe until the latter could dispatch Lucifer.

Dean snorts at the thought and behind him he hears Sam pause and glance up.

"Anything particularly funny?" he asks dryly.

Dean's sighs before getting to his feet, stretching, and turning to answer,

" We're gonna kill the devil today Sammy, not gonna be able to top that."

Sam sighs too, turning permanently black laced eyes towards the looming battle. They stand together like that for a while, neither willing to voice the fact that they probably won't make it through this battle. Sam starts humming after a while and Dean glances at him for a moment, a small genuine smile tugging the corner of his lips before he starts to sing.

" _I'm wanted, dead or alive,  
__Wanted, dead or alive"_

**Medieval: **_**of, relating to, or characteristic of the Middle Ages**_

" _Come on Sammy, when's the next time we'll be able to check out a castle?" _

If the made it out of there alive Sam was so going to kill his damn brother. Or make him take the longest damn flight they had back to America.

Glancing over his shoulder Sam put an extra burst of speed in, seeing the Banshee's approaching rapidly. At the last moment a door swung open to his left, hand reaching out and dragging him inside. Sam stumbled backwards, landing rather hard on his ass as Dean threw the door back closed, quickly securing the bolts.

Turning he grinned rather sheepishly at Sam, who had slowly stood back up and was currently using everyone of his three extra inches of height to loom over Dean.

"Guess it wasn't a Poltergeist huh?" he asked, rather timidly for himself.

Sam came _this_ close to exploding right then and there, if it weren't for the sound of three rather pissed off Banshees rushing down the hallway directly outside the door. Instead he settled for glaring angrily at Dean, who fidgeted uncomfortably under his younger brothers death-promising gaze.

" So we'll uhh, we'll be here until sunrise…you got any cards ?"

**Nerve: **_**Power of endurance or control**_

Dear God, John's so proud of Sam. He can't tell him with Sam being in a coma and all, but he's still insanely proud of his son for holding up as long as he did. Sighing he reclines back as far as his chair will let him, eyes trailing from Sam's silent form to Dean, whose crumpled into the opposite chair, sleep doing nothing to ease the lines from his eldest son's face. The quiet, oddly reassuring, click-whoosh of the ventilator luring him into an uneasy sleep.

--------

The last time he and Sam talked it was more of a screaming match than anything else. And the sad thing is that fourteen hours later John can't even remember what the hell they were fighting about. All he remembers is that something got Sam pissed right before he and Dean left for a hunt, vampire's nest in northeastern Michigan, and when they got back about a day and a half later the room was destroyed and Sam was…god he was half dead on the floor, neck chewed to Hell and back, revenge being the obvious motive behind the attack.

--------

John lurches back to consciousness the same time Dean does, both blinking wildly as alarms began blaring from the machines around the bed. For a horrible moment John thinks that Sam's crashing again but when the doctors come pouring in and Sam lands a fierce right hook on the nurses nose John feels his legs go weak with relief.

As Dean talks Sam down from whatever adrenaline high was left over from the attack almost two weeks ago John stumbles out into the hallway, practically collapsing against the wall from as tears threaten to leak from his eyes.

Sam may never know it, John may not tell him enough, but right now he's the best damn thing to happen in John's life for a long time, and he's terrified of losing it again.

* * *

**AN: **Yay for H-N !!  
(every time I think that now, I think H1-N1, damnit Pig Flu!!!!)

Thank you so, so, so, so, soooo much to **UpstairsMind, clumsybookgirl13,** and** enid18 **for your encouragement to continue with this story.  
(Insane, Batshit, and Crazy send their thanks for the reviews...their still fighting over which one gets to head the next chapter. If Batshit wins again I'm screwed *hides keyboard*)

O-T coming up next, don't know what the hell I'll do for Q yet, but it should be up in the next two days, give or take :)

* * *

**Concerning I: **I's gonna have it's own chapter at the end of the story. It was originally going to be either Impulse or Instinct, but at school this idea just freaking attacked me from behind so I became Impossible which is basically going to be what the entire plots going to revolve around.

Cheers again,  
Jess :) (P.S: Andy wants you to review. Do it or he'll sic Ava's creepy demon girl on you)


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Don't own 'em, if I did Sam would have cooler power and probably die every other episode. And Dean would be WAY less asshole-y  
Plus the demon slut wouldn't of made it past her second apperance on the show :(  
Enjoy guys,  
Jess :)

* * *

**Occult: **_**of or relating to supernatural agencies, their effects or knowledge of them**_

It makes sense, considering their line of work, that they'd run into a few occult groups but John never though that he'd ever have to rely on one, certainly not to save one of his sons.

Thinking this he returns to the room they put Dean in, flinching slightly at the marks they drew across his skin. Being careful not to smudge any of them he grasps Dean's hand, wishing for a moment that his son would magically sit up, that he wouldn't have to go through with this insane plan. It doesn't work though and all to soon he's being called back to the other room.

"It's going to be fine John." Alexandra says softly. She's the leader of the Cult. A short, lean woman with flashing brown eyes and a surprisingly kind smile on the rare occasions she allows it to show.

They stand together for a while, watching as Sam helps light candles and make sure that everything's in the correct spot. He's got the same symbols as Dean scrolling across his chest and arms, with a few extra decorating the skin around his eyes. His are also more permanent, an extra precaution against any wearing before their ready to began.

Eventually John notices that Alexandra's fidgeting quietly beside him, as though she's working up to confess something and he gets the sudden feeling that it won't be good news. Before she can speak he pulls her down the hall, away from where anyone else can hear.

" What's wrong?" he asks shortly, foot tapping restlessly on the floor.

" It's not bad, really, but Samuel…he's got power John, dark power, and it's more than I usually sense around people twice, even three times, his age, and I don't even think it's fully manifested yet,"

John's instantly even more on edge, hands clenching reflexively as he sighs, backing away.

" What the hell do you mean by that?" he growls

Alexandra backs a few steps away too, hands raised defensively, " I'm not saying anything, I just want to let you know. This power, whatever it is , however he got it…It's going to grow at some point, you need to be prepared to control it."

Before John has the chance to ask again what her point is, their being called back into the other room.

It's time to begin.

**Peace **_**a state of calm and quiet, freedom from disturbing thoughts or emotion. **_

Sam and Dean haven't been in a church since Lucifer rose almost three years ago. Partially because of the memories that it stir up for the both of them, and, if Sam's honest with himself, with how much he's changed he doesn't even know if he _can _walk on consecrated ground anymore.

Now though, unable to sleep and with the biggest damn battle in the history of the world expected to happen within the week, Sam finds himself standing outside the towns little, beat down, half wrecked excuse for a church, hands stuffed inside pockets as he wonders if it's even worth attempting to go inside.

Finally he strides forwards, flinching as he grabs the door handle though nothing happens, and steps inside. The door falls shut with a soft thud behind him as he stands in the entry. The church itself looks slightly better on the inside than the outside would lead someone to believe, half lit by a few candles scattered around the edges of the room. Faint snoring comes from the front pew and Sam huffs a laugh as he sits carefully in the darkest corner of the room. He stares absently at the candles flickering across the room, allowing his thoughts to wander. Bit by bit he gradually relaxes, some of the stress from the past couple of years fading in the silence.

A few hours later a hand claps itself on his shoulder and Sam jerks awake, surprised to find that he had actually fallen asleep. Dean's standing over him, eyebrows raised over a surprisingly gentle smile. Sam rubs his eyes blearily as he blinks at Dean, the after-effects of an actually restful sleep tugging at the corners of his mind.

As their leaving he glances again at the candles he had been staring at the night before and notices, with a smile of his own, that their still lit, not having burned down during the night.

**Quiet: **_**marked by little emotion or movement **_

Sam's being quiet. This worries Dean from the start. Sam's never been this emotionless before. Even as a kid, he may have been reserved but he was never so completely silent as he is now.

Dean understand, believe him, he understands, Sam just lost his fucking girlfriend. Not only that but he lost his girlfriend the same way they lost mom. Maybe he doesn't understand as fully as he could, memories of his mom's death dulled by twenty-two years of other hardships and his longest relationship only lasting a few weeks (and didn't that turn out beautifully) but he does have _some_ inkling of the pain Sammy must be feeling. Sam shut off this tightly…it's scaring the hell out of him.

--------

When Sam does finally start opening up Dean's kind of at a lost for what to do. Anyone who said John and Sam had nothing in common would've looked like total asses at this point 'cause all Dean can see in Sam's eyes is a bloodthirsty urge for revenge. The look doesn't fit well on Sam.

Maybe it's scaring him more than the silence did.

--------

Fucking figures. It took Dean getting slashed six ways to hell and bleeding on the forest floor for Sam to open up completely. It also figures that Dean's so fucking out of it that he can barely understand what Sam's saying. It's like one of those _Peanuts _cartoons where the adults voices are all garbled. Dean starts laughing but stops quickly, a combination of the pain that rips through his chest and the concern that etches itself on Sammy's face.

Some seven hours later Dean rises through the thick layers of unconsciousness to hear Sam _talking. _Not the short, simple sentences he's been getting for the pat few weeks but an actual conversation. Granted it's a rather one-sided conversation but it's a conversation none the less. He allows himself to relax further into the bed ( they must be back at the motel if he's on a bed) and by the pause in whatever story Sam's telling now he can tell his brother noticed. For a moment he panics, thinking Sam will shut himself back off but he continues and Dean realizes slowly that it's some story from Stanford. Something about a prank he helped his friends pull on the Physics teacher.

Eventually silence takes over again and he slowly moves his head to see Sam slumped backwards in his chair. Dean stares for a moment before snorting, a small smile stretching his face despite the fresh wave of pain that ripped through him.

"Jeez Sammy, I can't even talk myself to sleep." he reaches out and pats Sam feebly on the knee before burrowing back into his pillow.

This kind of quiet…this is okay.

**Rampage: **_**a course of violent or riotous action or behavior **_

"Welcome to Hell" Dean thinks sourly he drives through another abandoned town, going all of ten miles an hour to avoid the cars and general rubbish that litters the road. It's nothing new, he's had to have driven through dozens of towns just like this one but it never makes it any easier.

Its been eight and a half years since Lucifer came to Earth and the demons threw a god-damned welcoming party.

Its been seven years since he saw or even heard from an angel. They probably all took off, fucking typical.

Its been six years, seventy-two day, four hours and fifty-three minutes since he last saw Sam. _(make that fifty-four) _And Dean's been counting Every. Damn. Second.

His mood takes even more of a down turn as he thinks about Sam. The last he heard his brother was heading a small defense group in New York and something big had come through, wiping them out. All were presumed dead.

He warily parks in front of the local gas station, checking the surroundings before carefully exiting the car with a loaded shotgun at his side. These days you can't take two steps in public without a loaded weapon, the first casualties learned that. Sighing Dean swipes his extremely overloaded card in the machine, marveling silently that this one still even has power. There's barely two seconds notice a someone comes up behind him. Dean ducks seconds before a holes blown though the machine, directly where his head had been. He turns and freezes jaw dropping in shock. Behind him stands a single person, thinner, more wearied, with a new darker more dangerous gleam in his eyes, yet completely unmistakable.

"Sammy?"

**Scholarship: **_**money awarded to a student to help pay for further education**_

Dean didn't mean to find it, he'll swear to that later. He was just looking through Sam's dresser for a clean pair of socks (wasn't his fault he was out) when his jostling disturbed the panel Sam had apparently stuck in there to hide something.

Curiosity piqued he had looked a bit closer…and felt the ground fall right out from under his feet.

Three or four letters from Stanford, and all the had to read was,

"_We are pleased to inform you"_ and the rest might as well have been in a different language. He'll admit it now that at first he was pissed. Not just "_kill Sam_" pissed but "_kill Sam, burn the bones and throw the ashes of a cliff" _pissed. Needless to say it was a good thing Sam was still at school.

Later, after he had time to think (and have a few beers) the anger toned down and pride began to show its head. After he read through all the letters he was practically exploding with it.

When Sam got home he gave the letters back, a simple pat on the back and " Congrats little brother" all he had to say. Sam had taken the letters back, still tensed as though he expected Dean to spin around suddenly and rip him to shreds. They'd spent the rest of the day relaxing around the T.V, talking about the little things, sharing memories.

Maybe they both knew it would all fade once John got home.

**Tent: **_**a collapsible shelter of material stretched and supported by poles**_

Camping and Winchesters just don't mix. It's practically a proven fact at this point, whenever the Winchesters go camping something gets screwed to hell. (Not to mention trying to share a tent with John Winchester was like trying to sleep through a hurricane. Motel rooms were one thing, 5x8 polyurethane shells were totally fucking different.)

There was the time Dean filled Sam's sleeping bag with Poison Ivy, The time Sam slipped extra-strength laxatives into Dean's food and of course the one memorable time when John managed to set both the tents on fire and they spent a miserable night sitting in the rain, after which all three were sick for days.

It's worse now though. Dean's just about two seconds from suggesting they buy Sasquatch his own tent when a scream rips through the night. Their both instantly on alert, pulling the always-ready guns from under their jackets as they sit up. It's a tense few seconds, neither of them speaking. Dean begins to lower his gun when another scream comes from the opposite direction. He and Sam both carefully exit the tent, Dean going first of course, standing back- to-back outside of it.

Something lunges suddenly out from the trees, faster than either can see.

Two more screams in the night.

They should have stayed in the tent.


	4. Chapter 4

** AN:** Whoa... final chapter... it's always kind of bittersweet when you finish uploading a story.  
Thank you so much to the people who faved. this story and added it to their alerts, your encouragement means the world to me and never stops lifting my spirits. Thank you so much again :)  
(_Insane, Batshit and Crazy send their tanks too, they enjoyed the reviews)_

**Concerning I: _I_**'s gonna have it's own complete story. I tried my damnest to fit it in here but it's taking forever to work the kinks out therefore, when it's finished it will have the honor of having it's own story :)

** Disclaimer: **Still don't own 'em. Wish to Heaven and Hell I did though, you know how freaking amazing that'd be !?!?!?

** Warning: **Didn't really feel the need to put this in any other chapter, but for the V word Dean thinks the f-word about seven times. It's a lot, I know but for Dean, it's just one of those days :)

* * *

**Uncompromising: **_**not making or accepting a compromise **_

He wakes to the sound of them arguing. Again.

Their being quieter this time though, and as Dean tries to roll over he's reminded why. Three long rows of stitches pull tightly across his chest and he falls back, breathing heavily as pain ripples throughout his body. Memories from the hunt piece themselves slowly back together as he listens to the argument swing up in intensity.

Something about kids…a family in, god Nevada maybe,…simple haunting,

If it was a simple haunting though how'd he end up with stitches?

Something shatters in the other room and for once Dean wishes they were in a motel rather than a house with actual rooms. The walls are surprisingly thick, blocking most of the words but he can clearly hear the anger radiating from dad and something else, guilt maybe?, leaking just as clearly from Sam.

The shouting stops suddenly, silence echoing until the door slams. Dean wonders absently which one left this time. They've developed that habit lately John and Sam. Whenever one of them starts losing they leave, for John usually to the nearest bar and for Sam it's usually somewhere quiet, secluded where he'd just sit for a few hours, thinking and simmering before he worked up the will to return.

Dean slowly musters the energy to roll out of the bed and stumble to the doorway, resting for a brief moment when breathing and walking at the same time become to hard. Eventually though he makes it down the hall and hovers in the archway. Apparently it was Sam who left this time, as Johns standing at the sink, facing away from him head hanging forward.

"Your not supposed to be up yet Dean," he says quietly, not turning

"Couldn't sleep." Dean shoots back, the dig unspoken but clearly felt judging from the stiffing of John's stance. He doesn't take the bait though, sighing softly before turning.

"Go back to bed Dean, we're leaving in the morning."

Dean winces internally at the thought of riding in the Impala with his chest beat to Hell, it may be the best car ever but it doesn't exactly offer the smoothest ride. Other concerns take over quickly, Dean's eyes sliding from the clock, to the door, to the glass that evidentially got chucked across the room, as John slides past him.

" You gonna wait up for Sammy?" he asks quietly

John pauses for a moment before shaking his head, " Sam's got a key Dean, he'll be back when he's ready." that said he enters his own room, closing the door firmly, on the subject and on Dean, who sighs and hobbles over to the couch.

Maybe it's just elder-brotherly concern but he's convinced that one of these days Sam won't come back.

He'll sit up waiting 'till then.

**Venomous: **_**full of venom**_

Only Sam, only his fucking baby brother, could find the only poisonous snake in the entire fucking state of Maine. There weren't even supposed to be poisonous snakes in Maine damnit, he'd Googled it. Repeatedly.

Doesn't change what happened though, doesn't change the fact that Sam's in a fucking hospital, because the fucking snake that, shouldn't be fucking poisonous, fucking bit him and nearly sent him into shock and caused his fucking leg to swell up.

It was touch and go for a while, and for a few hours Dean had the almost overwhelming urge to pound the doctors face in. And the receptionist's, and the male nurse's, and the punk's in the waiting room who kept staring at him funny (and the security guards who tried to escort him out once he did punch the punk. At least the guy was already at the hospital, maybe his nose won't be that smushed when they fix it)

But it's all okay now, Sam's out of the woods, though he's under a light sedative to ease the pain, and sleeping mostly peacefully.

He swears, on both his parents graves, the angels, the demons and everything in between, the Apocalypse can wait. Once Sam gets better he's hunting down all the damn snakes in the US and killing them to ensure this never happens again.

**Weary: **_**having one's patience, tolerance or pleasure exhausted. **_

The hunting life does get old after a while. Sam can't honestly remember the last time he could look at Dean and see anything other than bone-deep weariness emanating off of him.

Don't get him wrong, Sam knows that Dean's probably thinking the same thing but lately in the dead of night, when sleep just won't come his brain starts thinking, _(Traitorous damn thing) _and he starts wondering what would've happened three years ago if Dean had never visited him at Stanford.

Would dad still be alive, would Jess? Would _he_ have died? Would Dean have made that damn deal to bring him back?

He knows the thoughts aren't healthy, they usually lead to some twisted ass dreams for one, and they just. Won't. Stop. God, he wishes they'd just stop.

--------

Dean can tell something's going on with Sam, he just can't tell what. Not like his normally talkative little bro's been sharing lately. Maybe it's the deal, after all he's only got nine months, seventeen hours, and thirty-three minutes left., the stress could be catching up to him.

Whatever it is though it's eating Sam alive, Dean can see it in the was he moves lately, the dark circles that are again taking residence under his eyes and the quick, almost tentative, glances Sam's constantly sending him. He suggested they take a break once though and Sam just stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language. Dean let it drop.

He doesn't stop wondering though and it's almost, in a sick way, a relief when Sam manages to hurt himself badly enough to need the painkillers.

Watching Sam sleep Dean wearily allows his head to drop backwards and wonders when it'll all just gonna end. The pain, the stress, the constant gnawing _fear. _Honestly he doesn't think either of them can take it for much longer

**Xenophobia: **_**fear and hatred of strangers or foreigners or of what is strange of foreign.**_

Sam thinks Dean's Xenophobic. Since his brother got back he's been doubly cautious around other people. Sam's seen the extra precautions, the suspicious glances, the unusual hesitancy Dean has around other people now. He doesn't blame him for it, it was _Hell_ his brother was dragged out of just a few months ago. If it were Sam he'd probably be throwing holy water in every other persons face and screaming exorcisms every five minutes.

Doesn't make it sting any less the first time Dean looks at _him_ that way though.

It was quick, just a single glance, before he probably wouldn't have even noticed it, but now, after everything that's happened he's become more attuned to him. Because of that he sees it. The momentary fear and distrust that flickered through Dean's eyes, and judging by the shutters that fell over them a second later Dean knows he saw it. The quiet, which has actually been rather comforting until this point abruptly becomes cold, alien.

The sudden need to just get away sparks suddenly in Sam's chest.

Dean opens his mouth to say something and he's out the door so fast it slams slightly in his wake.

--------

At the table Dean allows his head to fall forward, a hollow thunk sounding as it connects solidly with the table. Why the Hell did he let Sam see that?

About six hours later, after darkness has fallen and with worry beginning to creep into Dean's thoughts Sam comes back. He doesn't say anything at first, dropping the key on the table and falling back onto his bed. Dean's kind of afraid to talk, worried that if he says the wrong thing Sam'll take off again.

With a sigh Sam rolls over to face the wall, his words are spoken quietly but they might have well been shouted with the force it hits Dean with. He sits there shocked as Sam continues to stare at the wall, the canyon growing just a bit bigger.

"_I'm sorry Dean"_

**Youthful: **_**being young and not yet mature**_

Sam had his first kill at the tender age of ten years old, beating out Dean by three and a half months. Sam had been a particularly fast learner for his age and was almost as good as Dean was with the guns, therefore it had been the fourth hunt Sam had ever been on, Black dog, they thought then, roaming this one swath of forest in Colorado.

His job had actually been pretty simple, stay by the car, make sure the communication between Dean and John stayed strong but things had gone downhill fast, starting when Dean's walkie failed. Sam had quickly grown nervous afterwards leaving the relative safety of the car to find Dean himself.

Turned out to actually be a good idea when the thing blindsided Dean, slamming him into a tree in the process. Dean had slumped to the ground, nearly unconscious, and as the thing advanced on him Sam reverted back to the basic training dad had taught him.

" _Always aim for the head Sammy, it's the quickest way to take them out" _

He'd brought the gun to bear, aiming carefully before firing. The bullet stuck the Werewolf low, slamming through it's neck as it leaned towards Dean. It had turned quickly, despite the blood pumping from it's neck, very human hate shining out of it's eyes, and at this point Sam completely panicked, firing the rest of the clip wildly.

In retrospect, with how badly his hands were shaking it's a miracle any bullets hit it at all.

The thing had fallen to the ground, twitching wildly. Sam had stood frozen until it stopped, releasing a breath he didn't realize he had been holding and hurrying over to Dean's side.

--------

Dean had been sure he was about to die. He'd dropped his gun when the thing hit him and there was no way in hell he'd be able to get it back before this thing ate him.

The werewolf had gotten close enough he could feel it's warm breath brush against his face when the loud shot of gunfire echoed through the clearing. The beast jerked with the sound and turned snarling. Where Dean expected there to stand John he saw Sammy, and for a moment he blinked stupidly, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him. The Werewolf's charge broke that illusion and the sound of gunfire echoes again.

--------

In the end the werewolf's dead and Sammy's pressed so tightly against his side it's like he's trying to burrow into him. Dean doesn't shove him away, partially because of the tremors that he can feel racing down Sam's body and he doesn't want to see the darkness that's going to be etched into his eyes.

His last thought before John finds them is " Damn dads gonna be pissed"

**Zombie: **_**a person who is believed to have died and been brought back to life without speech or free will**_

It's got to be the end of the fucking world.

They rolled into the town two weeks ago and everything was as normal as could be, now he's stuck with some of incredibly jumpy, insipid backwoods yahoo, and he has no idea where the hell his sons are, if their still even alive. John shakes his head, furious that he's thinking that way again. Their alive, they have to be…he can't let himself think any other way.

The damn yahoo is bellowing, loud enough to draw the dead to their hideout.

" 'Ey John…John!!"

Growling, he jumps to his feet, bolting up the stairs and swatting the idiot, Mosley he thinks his name is, and snatches the binoculars away.

" I've told you multiple times damnit, quit shouting." He hisses. Mosley at the very least has the intelligence to look halfway ashamed as he backs away.

John peers through the binos. And feels his heart momentarily stop.

Seconds later he's rushing out of the house, a bewildered Mosley trailing behind.

John's got a job to do.

He's got to protect his sons.


End file.
